“That was not specified,” I said, “though I imagine it would not have been a quail’s egg, as quail’s eggs are on the small side and chaps in egg costumes, I would imagine, would be larger, though I could be wrong, as I have not seen one before.”

“In any case,” he said, “the answer, I am afraid is ‘No’. I have not seen any men dressed as any types of egg.”

I thanked him, looked around a little more, then went back to the office to write another coruscating column.

Then I returned to Borough Market and almost immediately spotted the chap I had been looking for, or at least a chap in an egg costume whom I took to be the fellow I was looking for, as the likelihood of there being two men in similarly eggy attire struck me as slim.

As I approached him, he offered me a slice of long egg which I accepted gratefully. It was cold and tasted of nothing at all. “This isn’t really an egg costume,” he said.

“The yolky part over my head was originally a cigarette costume, but in combination with a white lab coat it creates the impression of a boiled egg.”

“Why,” I asked, “are you doing impressions of a boiled egg?”

“It’s a long egg,” said one of the young ladies, showing me a long roll of egg, comprising a cylinder of yolk surrounded by a cylinder of albumen.

“I believe these are what they serve on aeroplanes in tasteless salads to ensure that everyone has a slice of egg identical to everyone else’s,” I said.

“Correct,” she said.

“Are you promoting these long eggs for their makers, Blakes?” I asked.

“No,” she said, “this is art.”

“Why is it art?” I asked.

“What we like to do,” she explained, “is identify areas that are missing or empty, and then we produce what is lacking.” I think that is what she said, but it left me conceptually taken aback so I may not have it quite right.

“Then I must congratulate you on attaining your objective,”

I said. “Until now, nobody was giving out slices of tasteless long eggs to the public.

"You have surely identified something that was missing, and now, thanks to you, that gap has been filled.”

“What I am really interested in,” she continued, “is pipes in the ground.”

I would have loved to go on talking to her, but had to get back to the office. The two young ladies’ names were Laura Yuile and Orsolya Bajusz.

I didn’t catch the fellow’s name but I shall recognise him if we meet again. Unless he changes out of his egg costume.